“I’m out tonight,” she said. “It’s Lucy’s birthday, so we’re going to the Old Buck by the river for some food. They’ve got a new menu out.” The Old Buck was a pub that had reopened as a restaurant a few months ago, and would be dishing up better food than I would be. I tried not to show my irritation, but I was sure that Jennifer hadn’t mentioned going out. “I told you a few weeks ago,” she continued.
“Did you?” I said. “I don’t remember.” Even though I'd tried to keep my voice even and not sound pissed off, Jennifer saw straight through me.
“Oh God, don’t you start,” she said, turning and walking out of the kitchen.
I listened to Jennifer moving about in the bedroom as I scraped the sorry looking lumps of pepper into a bowl. Opening the fridge to keep the peppers for another day, I looked inside to make sure there was beer and something to throw in the microwave later. Good result on both counts, so I grabbed a beer and cracked the can open before walking into the lounge and turning the television on. I sat there for maybe half an hour watching rubbish on the television before Jennifer came in, but I wasn't just watching television. I was stewing over the fact I’d been looking forward to spending the evening with my wife, eating what could have been an amazing lasagne, and just chilling together. She’d definitely not told me she was going out; I had a good memory for things like that.
“What do you think?” she asked me, turning on her heels. Jennifer was wearing a simple black dress that showed off her slim curves. She'd tied up her long blonde hair in a loose ponytail which highlighted her cheekbones, and she had just the slightest touch of makeup on. She looked amazing, almost to the point where for a second or two I thought maybe I should be concerned about her going out looking so good without me. But I wasn’t that kind of bloke.
“Yeah, you look okay,” I replied like a spoilt child. She’d spent ages getting ready and that was all I could manage.
“Thanks,” she said. The next sound I heard was the front door closing as she left the flat.
I sat drinking beer and watching re-runs of Top Gear on the television, stewing in my stupidity. After a crap day at work, so what if Jennifer wanted to go out with her friends? She shouldn’t need my permission. I was, I concluded, being a muppet. I reached across to the coffee table for my phone and tapped out a text message.
Sorry for being an idiot, Jennifer. You look amazing — good enough to eat. Have a great night, can’t wait until you come home. I love u loads… xxxxx It was always five kisses at the end of our text messages. It was our thing, the thing that let us both know everything was cool. I watched television for the rest of the evening, checking my phone every few minutes to see if Jennifer had replied, but there was nothing. I ate half a microwave meal before throwing the rest in the bin and wondered what she was having for dinner. Whatever it was, it would be a damn sight better than the rubbish I’d just had. A few more episodes of Top Gear later, I looked at my watch. It was almost ten o’clock, an hour away from closing time, but being a Friday night they’d be going on to a club, anyway. There was still no reply from Jennifer, so I decided to go to bed once I’d finished my last can of lager. Jennifer would wake me up when she got in, especially if she’d had a few too many glasses of wine. I could make it up to her then.
In the end, it was me who had a bit too much to drink. I woke with a start on the sofa, disorientated. I wasn’t sure what had woken me up, but rain was lashing against the window pane. I looked at my watch — just gone eleven. I gathered up my empty cans from the lounge carpet and carried them into the kitchen. Might as well go to bed. As I walked through to our bedroom, a low rumble of thunder sounded. That must have been what woke me up.
The next thing I knew it was half past three in the morning, or at least that’s what my bedside clock told me it was. Something had woken me up, but it wasn’t Jennifer stumbling around the room trying to get into bed. I padded my hand across the bed, expecting to find Jennifer already curled up under the duvet. There was nothing there except a cold bed. As I lay there, cursing about the fact I was awake and wondering where the hell she was, there was a knock at the front door. I muttered to myself as I looked around the dark room for my boxer shorts. She must have forgotten her keys or was just too pissed to get them in the door. I was struggling to get my legs into my boxers when there was another knock, way more insistent. That wasn’t Jennifer. It wasn’t her knock, but one which was much louder, much harder. I stumbled to my feet, walked to the front door and looked through the spy hole. What sort of security consultant would I be if I didn’t at least do that? Though the spy hole, I could see the distorted outlines of two figures standing on the doorstep. Dark figures, black or navy-blue uniforms. Old Bill, without a doubt. Bollocks.
I tried to clear my head as quickly as I could. It must be the off-licence job. I’d done nothing since, but that was ages ago. Maybe Tommy or David had been nicked and turned me over. I doubted it. Tommy was solid as a rock, and David wasn’t far behind him for all his faults. Whatever the Old Bill wanted, there was nothing I could do about it, so I opened the door. Standing on the doorstep were two coppers, looking less distorted than when I’d seen them through the spy hole. The younger of the two was standing a couple of steps behind his colleague, obviously the junior boy. He looked almost scared to be there, which might explain why he was standing behind his boss.
“Mr Dawson?” the older policeman said. I paused, realising for the first time they both had their hats tucked under their arms, before nodding my head. A terrible feeling started growing in my guts. I hadn’t had much to do with the Old Bill in the past, which was more from luck than judgement, but one thing I did know was they rarely took their hats off. The policeman swallowed. “Can we come in, sir?”
We sat in an awkward triangle in the lounge. I’d grabbed my dressing gown from the bedroom and fastened it around me as the policemen stood in the lounge. As I walked back in, I caught the younger one looking at a photo of me and Jennifer on the bookcase and then looking at his colleague before nodding ever so slightly. My stomach started to churn.
“Mr Dawson, I’m PC Turner. You’re married to Jennifer. Is that correct?” the policeman said. I felt sick, the churning increasing.
“Yes,” I replied in a whisper. “Yes,” I repeated in a louder voice. “Has something happened?”
“There’s been an accident, Mr Dawson. Your wife was involved in a traffic accident earlier this evening and has been seriously injured.”
“No, that can’t be right,” I said, relieved. There must have been a mistake. “She wasn’t driving. She’s only gone out for a meal with her friends. It’s Lucy’s birthday, and there’s a new menu at the Old Buck so they’d all gone there.” I was speaking far too fast, but needed to explain to them it couldn’t be her.
“Mr Dawson, a young woman who we believe to be your wife was knocked down earlier this evening by a car,” PC Turner said. I looked at him. His eyes were a light green, not far off Jennifer’s colour but nowhere near as intense. The other difference was that PC Turner’s eyes looked very sad. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but we’re sure it’s her. We need to take you to the hospital.” I jumped to my feet and ran into the bathroom, getting to the toilet seconds before my stomach erupted and I filled the bowl with the remains of eight cans of lager and a half-eaten microwave meal.
A few minutes later, I was sitting in the back of their marked police car as the younger policeman steered it through the narrow streets of the estate. I don’t think I’d ever got dressed so quickly in my life. I stared through the window at the houses flashing by. There wasn’t a soul around, which wasn’t surprising considering the time of night and the awful weather. The police car was approaching the main ring road around the outskirts of Norwich when PC Turner’s phone rang. He answered the call with a curt “Yes?”, and listened to the voice on the other end. I couldn’t hear what was being said. A few seconds later he ended the call and looked across at his colleague. Without a word, PC Turner
reached forwards and flicked a switch on the dashboard, turning on the flashing blue lights on top of the car. I felt myself being pushed back into the seat as it sped up.
If there’d been anything left in my stomach, it would have been on the floor of the police car.
The police car pulled up outside the Accident and Emergency department at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, coming to a sharp stop near the door. It didn’t quite screech to a halt, but it wasn’t far off it. Before PC Turner had even undone his seatbelt, I was out of the car. The automatic glass doors crawled open as I ran up to them, so I ignored the sign taped to them asking people not to force them open and did just that. I ran into the waiting area and stopped, looking around to get my bearings. It was years since I’d been here. I tried to stay away from hospitals as much as I could as in my experience bad things happened in them.
I made my way through the waiting area to the reception desk, ignoring the curious looks of a drunk bloke with a filthy bandage wrapped around his hand. He said something as I walked past him, but I didn’t hear what he said or bother replying. The receptionist looked up at me when I got to the desk. She was maybe in her mid-thirties, no real distinguishing features as far as I could see, but then again, I wasn’t looking for any. She smiled, showing off a set of perfect white teeth that contrasted against her light olive skin as she did so.
“Can I help—” she started speaking, but I cut her off and her smile faltered.
“My wife,” I said. “My wife’s in here, she’s been in an accident.” I knew I was babbling, but I didn’t care. “Please, you’ve got to tell me where she is.”
“What’s her name, sir?” the receptionist said. I was about to reply when I heard a male voice behind me.
“It’s the young lady in resus, Jessica.” It was PC Turner. The receptionist looked at me again, her hands poised above the keyboard. Her smile disappeared, and her mouth formed a small ‘oh’ shape. “I’ll take him through to the relatives’ room. Could you get somebody to come and speak to him?” PC Turner continued. The woman nodded and hurried through a door in the back of the reception area. I turned to the policeman, feeling helpless. He put one hand on my shoulder. “If you come with me, Gareth, I’m sure one of the doctors or nurses will be free to speak to you soon.” I nodded, speechless.
The relatives’ room was a windowless cubicle off the staff corridor. There were some nondescript prints on the wall, IKEA furniture, and a half-used box of tissues on the coffee table. I sat down but jumped to my feet a few seconds later, far too wired to just sit there. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Should I phone Andy? Let him know Jennifer was hurt? Or should I wait and see what happened next? Questions bounced around inside my head, too many of them for me to answer.
“You want me to see if I can rustle you up a cup of tea, Gareth?” PC Turner asked.
“Yes, please,” I croaked.
After what seemed like hours, PC Turner came back into the relatives’ room with a mug of tea in his hand. He was followed by the other policeman, and a young man dressed in what looked like green pyjamas. PC Turner handed me the mug of tea, gesturing to the sofa as he did so.
“Have a seat, Gareth,” he said, sitting on the other sofa. “This is the doctor.” I sat down and looked at the man in the pyjamas. Embroidered across his breast pocket were the words Norfolk and Norwich Hospital Accident and Emergency Department, and he had a lanyard around his neck with some identification cards attached. He was thin, tired looking, and didn’t seem old enough to be a doctor.
“Mr Dawson? My name is Dr Raout and I am one of the emergency department doctors working tonight,” the man in the green pyjamas said in a quiet voice. He looked Indian but spoke with a much more cultured British accent than I did. “I’ll take you through to see your wife in a moment.” I took a deep breath as my heart thudded so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. If they were taking me through to see her, then she must be okay. Thank God for that. “But I have to warn you,” Dr Raout continued. “She has been very seriously injured and we need to take her to the operating theatre for emergency surgery in the next few minutes. There is a chance she may not survive the operation.” I swallowed, suddenly nauseous again. I had never felt as out of control of a situation as I felt then.
Doctor Raout’s mouth was still opening and closing, but the only thing I could hear were the words “might not survive” echoing in my head. I looked at PC Turner, imploring him to help me. He looked back at me with a blank face. I shook my head to try to clear it and concentrate on whatever the doctor was saying. It didn’t work. There must have been a mistake, I told myself. This couldn’t be happening to Jennifer, to me. To us. It must all be a horrible mistake.
The door opened, and I saw a young woman with a shock of blonde hair peer into the room. She was wearing the same pyjamas as Doctor Raout, but I had no idea who she was. Nurse? Doctor? Not a clue, nor did I care.
“Dr Raout?” The woman said. “We need to go soon.” She looked at me and smiled, but it was a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked. Even though I didn’t know who she was, she obviously knew who I was and why I was there. I got to my feet, knocking over the cup of tea which spread a wet brown stain across the carpet. I look down at it and then at the tissues on the coffee table.
“Don’t worry about that, Gareth,” PC Turner said. “I’ll sort it out.”
“It’s Gareth, is it?” The woman said. “I’m Bridget, the senior nurse on duty tonight.” I noticed a faint Irish accent. “Did Dr Raout tell you about your wife’s injuries?” I sat back down and looked across at the doctor before replying.
“He did, kind of,” I said. “but Jennifer will be okay, won’t she?” The nurse shot the doctor a withering look.
“Your wife has suffered some quite serious head injuries, and she needs to have an operation to try to fix some of the damage,” Bridget said. I felt the colour drain from my face, glad I was sitting down. Hearing this woman say the same thing as the doctor had made it a bit more real. Head injuries? What did she mean by that? “Now she’s been put under an anaesthetic, so she’s not in any pain, but you might be quite shocked when you see her. She’s connected to lots of tubes and different pieces of equipment. They’re all there to help and to keep her comfortable, so just try to ignore them if you can.”
The nurse turned and opened the door. I stumbled to my feet without a word and followed her out into the corridor. When we reached a set of double doors, she paused and turned to me. She smiled again, the same sad smile as before, and reached out her hand.
“Are you ready?” I felt her cool fingers on my forearm. I nodded in reply, unable to speak. She pushed the door open and walked into the resuscitation room. I followed her, looking around. It was just like something off the television. In one corner of the room was a hospital trolley with more people in green pyjamas gathered around it. Bridget walked towards them, announcing my arrival. The pyjamas all looked at me as I approached, stepping away as I reached the side of the trolley.
The figure who lay on the trolley looked nothing like Jennifer, and as I stood there I couldn’t help but hope again that there had been a mistake. That this was some other poor woman who’d been knocked over who had head injuries. Thick bandages came down to just above her eyes, covering her eyebrows. Her eyes were taped shut over ugly bruises below each one, and a green tube came out of her mouth. It wasn’t until I looked at the woman’s nose and saw the familiar freckles that I realised it was Jennifer. My Jennifer. Any hopes I had about it all being a case of mistaken identity disappeared in an instant, and in that moment of realisation, my life changed forever.
As I watched, a machine to the side of the trolley hissed and Jennifer’s chest rose before falling back again. There was a horrible smell in the air, a mixture of lots of different things. The only one which I could identify was the metallic, coppery smell of blood. I looked down at Jennifer’s body, covered in an inflatable sheet. Ug
ly looking tubes snaked underneath the sheet, connected to a variety of bottles hanging on a metal stand attached to the side of the trolley. The machine hissed again, breathing life into Jennifer. Did that mean she couldn’t breathe for herself? Was she so badly hurt she couldn’t even breathe?
“Gareth?” I heard Bridget whisper beside me. “We really need to go to the operating theatre now.” I felt my throat tighten and tears in my eyes. I’d not cried for the best part of twenty years, and I’d never cried in front of strangers, even as a child. Not once. The nurse was asking me to say goodbye to Jennifer, and I didn’t know if I would ever see her again.
“Can I kiss her?” I asked, barely able to speak. “Please?”
“Of course you can,” Bridget said. I leaned forward, my hands gripping the safety bars on the side of the trolley. As I kissed Jennifer on the cheek, one of my tears dropped onto her face. I wiped it away with the back of my hand. Her skin was freezing, like ice. I felt Bridget’s hand on my forearm again and I stepped back from the trolley. The medical team folded back around the trolley, and I saw Dr Raout pick up a phone.
“We’re on our way,” he said to whoever it was on the other end of the line. “Two minutes.” I glanced around the room. There was a chart of some sort on a table, lots of different coloured lines all over it. I had no idea what they were, but I could see all the lines were pointing downwards. I watched as the team manoeuvred the trolley with Jennifer on it and all the equipment she was plugged into, through another set of double doors at the end of the room.
Back in the relatives’ room, PC Turner had made me a fresh mug of tea and done a decent job of cleaning up the previous one. We exchanged small talk for a while, and he explained that he was waiting for the Detective Inspector who was in charge to get to the hospital. After a few minutes, we fell silent. I wondered how Jennifer was getting on, but they would have only just started the operation. I didn’t even know what the operation was for. She had head injuries, but what that actually meant I didn’t know.
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